Polarity
by Ultramatt17
Summary: Charles Xavier has taken in many troubled youths, but he has never faced the kinds of challenges that two mutant brothers will bring to his school. Ch. 5 up!
1. His Father's Son

Polarity

Chapter 1: His Father's Son

SLAM!

Brian Knight glanced up from his biology report out the open window. A red pickup had just parked in the driveway: Dad was home.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His paper forgotten, Brian rose and began walking towards the front door. If he was lucky, he could head off any trouble before it began.

"Where's the little faggot hiding?" His father's voiced echoed through the house.

So much for luck, he thought sullenly. Brian took a deep breath and counted to ten, willing himself to relax. He wouldn't be able to diffuse the situation if he couldn't keep his cool. The "little faggot" in question was Brian's younger brother Danny. Danny was only twelve-- far too young to know his sexual orientation. Not that his father cared.

"Danny's not here," Brian replied as he entered the living room. His father was already there, still in his work clothes and—not surprisingly—holding an open can of Coors.

"Where'd that little shit run off to?" the man asked, his voice slightly slurred. "He knows that he's supposed to come home right after school! I swear, when he gets home I'm gonna beat his ass till it's raw!" As he spoke, his hand clenched harder on the can of beer. The aluminum cylinder crumpled loudly under the pressure. Brian stood on without comment, his face an unreadable mask.

"He's over at a friend's house," he answered calmly. "They had to work on their Greek projects, remember? I dropped him off about two hours ago. In fact, I was just about to go pick—" The palm of his father's hand cut him off.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to talk back to me, boy?" The man's face was a shade like that of a stop sign. He was angry, but Brian knew that he was also ashamed at having forgotten something that his younger son had been working on for weeks. As his father stormed off to the kitchen, Brian risked a small smirk of satisfaction. That one slap had flushed much of the anger out of his father's system. By the time he returned with his brother, his father would hopefully have cooled off enough to enjoy a relatively peaceful evening.

After quickly returning to his room to collect his keys, Brian went out to his car. The car, an old blue Jetta, had been a gift for his seventeenth birthday just over a week ago. Brian had come to find birthdays as things to be feared. While each new year brought new experiences and freedoms, he was sure that his father would evict him as soon as he turned eighteen. That would mean that it would be just Danny and his mother alone with his father; he wouldn't be able to protect them anymore. Brian was certain that his father was counting the days with glee, for soon there would be no one to prevent him from venting his full anger. Brian knew that his mere presence might be the only thing keeping his father from going off the deep end.

This was not without good reason. At five feet seven inches, Brian was actually taller than his father. At first glance, Brian appeared to be a somewhat heavyset boy; the baggy jeans and loose fitting over shirts that he preferred added to the effect. But on closer inspection, one would find that Brian was reasonably well muscled. Unfortunately, his father was, as Brian often described him, built like a brick shithouse.

Brian rolled down his windows as he pulled out of the driveway and took a breath. He loved San Diego. Here the weather was warm year-round, and the air was clear, at least compared to LA. It was a wonderful place to grow up and discover whom you really are.

zzzzz

Brenda did her best not to flinch when she heard the slap. No matter how many times she heard that sound, she always flinched. It was only natural; no mother should be comfortable with hearing her children getting hit. And yet she let it continue.

That didn't make her much of a mother, did it? But what choice did she have? She couldn't very well try to stop him; that would only make Derek angrier. Reasoning with him was out of the question, as he was usually too drunk to see straight anyway. Divorce? Her fingers came to rest on the small crucifix hanging around her neck. No, she couldn't do that either. Till death do you part, she remembered. Her narrow shoulders fell as she sighed. How had it come to this?

"Little bastard, trying to undermine my authority..." Derek Knight's voice trailed off as he stalked into the kitchen. "Gimme a Coors," he demanded without so much as a glance at his wife. Brenda quickly moved to the refrigerator, hearing the familiar scrape and huff as her husband sat down at the table.

"Here," she said, handing him a fresh can.

"Good old silver bullet," he mused. The sound of the can opening punctuated the silence that had permeated the kitchen.

Eyes narrowing, Brenda watched for a moment as her husband chugged away at the silver can. She cleared her throat. "How many?"

"How many what?" he asked, wiping his lips.

"How many beers have you had?" her voice was low, yet firm.

"Including this one?"

She nodded. Derek pondered for a moment. "Three."

Brenda let out a heavy sigh. "And it's not even six yet."

"So?" he asked. Brenda was sure that he was trying to sound innocent, but he only came off as indignant.

"So," she replied. "You know I don't like it when you drink." Brenda walked to the cupboard and began taking out what she would need for the evening meal: Chef Boyardee's again. "It changes you," she muttered to herself.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice rising slightly.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, hoping that he would drop the subject.

"Like Hell nothing," his voice was still calm, but there was a hint of menace behind his words. "What do you mean 'changes me'?"

"I mean," she replied. "You're not...things used to be so different, you know?"

"Oh, not this again," he groaned. "Every time I have a little beer you start with this."

"And you always change the subject," she shot back. Derek grunted in response. They passed the next few minutes in silence. Brenda busied herself with dinner, while Derek had opened a newspaper. After a time Brenda's ears caught a familiar sound: the opening of a pack of cigarettes. "You never did that either, you know."

Derek paused, cigarette between his lips. "What's with you?" he asked in a warning tone while simultaneously lighting his smoke.

"Nothing," she replied with a sigh. "Just remembering, that's all. Do you remember when we were first married?"

"Brenda..."

"You had just gotten into that grad program at UCSD. You had that big, cheesy grin for weeks," she laughed. "I swear, it was like living with the Cheshire Cat."

"You done?" he asked, cigarette still between his lips.

"You had that same grin when Brian was born," she paused, lost in thought. "But not when Danny was born."

Derek took a long drag before replying: "Because I wised up"

"What do you mean?" she asked, completely shocked at his words.

"You know exactly what I mean," he answered, his voice wavering slightly with emotion. "I knew it was over. Once that little faggot showed up I knew I'd never get my degree."

"Derek!"

"Don't you 'Derek' me," he answered coldly, taking another drag. "You know as well as I do that we couldn't afford it. It was hard enough trying to balance it all with just one kid. But two? No way."

"Derek," she said quietly. "Don't tell me that you blame Danny for what happened?"

"If it wasn't for that little faggot I'd have everything I've ever wanted," he yelled, slamming the now empty can down onto the table. "That little queer stole my dreams!"

"Jesus, Derek," she gaped. "He's your SON!"

Derek stormed out of the kitchen without a word.

zzzzz

"See you tomorrow!" Danny waved to his friend one last time before opening the door of the little blue Jetta. Taking his seat, he closed the door and focused his eyes on the road ahead. He never got to ride shotgun unless he was with Brian, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it. At least he would when they started moving.

Brian cleared his throat. "Forgetting something?"

"Huh?" Danny did a quick check: backpack, folders, and paper. Everything seemed in order. "Nuh-uh," he replied with the articulacy common among children. But Brian didn't seem to be buying it.

"Buckle up," he said firmly. Danny let out a groan of protest, and then complied.

"Fine!" Danny replied, blushing slightly. He pulled the nylon strap across his small chest. Only after the buckle clicked home did Brian start the engine and pull out into the street.

As they rounded the first corner, Brian spoke up: "Have fun Squirt?" Danny rolled his eyes. Brian had been calling him Squirt for years. Not to mention Shrimp, Short Stuff, Half-Pint, and any number of nicknames that exploited his slight stature. He knew that Brian was just trying to get on his nerves, so he ignored them for the most part. Still, did he always have to remind him that he was short? It wasn't like Brian was much taller. He was only 5'7", and he was seventeen, so he was pretty much through growing. Well, growing taller at least. Danny's mom had told him that once people reach a certain age, they start growing wider instead of taller. He shook his head, forcing the thought from his mind. Anyway, it wasn't like he was going to be little forever. He'd just finished with a growth spurt, and had leveled off at an even five feet. And he was only twelve, so he had another five or six years of growing ahead of him. It was only a matter of time before Brian was the little one. An evil sneer worthy of Christopher Lee crept across Danny's face.

"Yeah," he replied. "Me and Jake got a lot of work done. We should be done by Thursday."

"Well that's good to hear. Oh, and it's 'Jake and I'," Brian chided. "If Mom heard you talk like that, she'd string you up by your shoelaces." Danny suppressed a smile.

"So now you're turning into the grammar police?" he asked, straining to keep a straight face.

"Of course. I can't let you get yourself killed. Do you have any idea how much work it would be to hide the body? Think of all the digging I'd have to do." Brian's face remained expressionless.

A long pause. Danny looked at his brother, their eyes locked. The corner of Brian's mouth started to twitch. Danny's lips tightened into a thin line. Another pause, and Brian's shoulders shook ever so slightly. Danny's breathing became erratic. And then, suddenly, the car exploded with laughter. Brian reached over to ruffle Danny's short, brown, bowl-cut hair.

"Hey! Both hands on the wheel!" The younger boy batted his brother's hand away and tried to wedge himself as far into the corner as possible, his slim frame shaking with laughter.

After a few minutes of laughing, both brothers settled down for the remainder of the trip. As Danny watched the road go by, his thoughts turned towards what awaited him at home and his face fell. No doubt that his father was sitting at home and getting drunk, something he'd been doing frequently as of late. When Dad got drunk, he got mad. And when he got mad, he hit things. He usually hit Danny, or at least tried to. Whenever Dad got really mad, though, Brian would intervene somehow; he would often deflect his father's anger towards himself. Danny knew that it had to be hard on him, and he was eternally grateful. He didn't want to think about what things were going to be like when he wouldn't have Brian around.

Why does Dad hate me? What did I do? His father liked to call him a fag. Danny couldn't figure it out. Sure, he wasn't really interested in girls, but that didn't make him gay did it? It wasn't like he ogled boys or anything. Although there was this one new boy who was pretty cute...

"Who's cute?"

Danny froze. "Huh?" he asked quickly

"I thought I heard you say that you thought somebody was cute," Brian said with a knowing smirk. "Does my baby bro have a crush on someone?"

"No!" Danny replied quickly, his face a deep shade of red. "I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't say anything." In retrospect, Danny realized that maybe he'd protested a little too much.

"Huh," Brian said after a moment. If he noticed the quiver in Danny's protest, he didn't show it. "I could've sworn I heard you say something."

Danny quickly turned to the window. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Had he been thinking out loud?

zzzzz

"Pass the salt."

Brian gave the salt to his father without glancing up or giving a reply. He didn't need to. He knew that his father would accept it without a word. It struck him that many families would find such conduct to be rather rude. Then again, the Knights weren't like most families. At least I hope not, Brian mused. Before Brian could begin to contemplate a world populated by Derek Knights, his mother broke the kitchen's silence.

"So Danny, how was school today?" she asked, not really looking at her younger son.

"Fine," he replied. "There was a new kid in class today."

"Oh really?" Brian thought that he could detect a hint of interest in her voice, but assumed that she was just trying to keep the conversation going. Brian, meanwhile, was more concerned with making his ravioli disappear.

"Yeah," Danny answered casually. "His name is Brett. He's really smart. He kept on giving the right answers to all these questions about Ancient Greece." Danny paused for a moment, as if in thought. "I think that he was already studying it at his old school."

"Well that's good. Maybe he can help you and Jake with your project. Is he nice?"

"Yeah, he's cool."

_Not to mention cute_

Brian stopped in mid bite. He knew that he had just heard his brother call his new classmate "cute." But that was impossible for two reasons. First, he hadn't heard Danny's voice with his ears. Rather, the words seemed to have been broadcast directly into his mind. Secondly, if Danny had, his father would have begun choking and coughing up a lung. Much like Derek Knight was doing at the moment.

"What. Did. You. Say?" Brian looked at his father and swallowed hard. The look in his father's eyes was somewhere between disgust and seething fury. Brian could feel a knot developing in his throat. This could not end well.

"What?" Danny asked defensively. The look on Danny's face told Brian that the boy wasn't aware that he'd said anything. "I just said that he was coo--"

"No, after that!" Derek spat. "You said he was 'cute'! You little queer..."

"What are you talking about?" Danny shot back, wide-eyed. "I didn't say that!" In twelve years, Brian had never seen Danny as scared as he was now. And for the first time in twelve years, Brian had no idea what to do.

"Well I heard it! If you didn't say it, then how in the Hell did I hear it in my head?" Derek asked. Suddenly, Brian saw a look of cold realization cross his face. "You're...you're a mutant. You're a goddamn MUTIE FAGGOT!"

Derek was up and around the table in an instant. Before he could react or even process what his father had said, Brian heard the harsh sound of his father's hand across his brother's face. The force of the backhand was enough to send Danny sprawling from his chair. He hit the ground hard, the chair clattering next to him.

"DEREK!" Brenda screamed from her chair.

"DAD!" Brian shot upright and rushed towards his father, who was now kicking Danny without mercy. Brian tried to pull his father away, but promptly received an elbow to his face. Brian stumbled backwards, clutching his nose. He tripped over his chair and fell onto his back.

"DEREK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP IT!" came his mother's voice. Through his eyes were clinched shut in pain, Brian knew that his mother had risen and was now trying in vain to pry her husband away from her youngest son.

Brian staggered to his knees and tried to clear his now blurry vision. He looked up in time to see his mother being backhanded by the man he called father. As his mother fell to the floor, he felt something inside of him snap.

Brian wasn't entirely sure what happened next. All throughout the room, lights began to dim and he felt an unnatural rush of strength and energy. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. Every muscle in his body felt tense, and his body seemed to react as fast as a lightening strike. At that moment, he was sure that he could bench press his Jetta. And at that moment, there was only one thing that he could think to do with all that power.

A feral scream echoed through the house as Brian lunged forward. His right fist flew forward, striking his father in the jaw. There was a cold, dry snap, and time seemed to slow down. Brian stared hard at his father, but something didn't seem right. It took him a moment for Brian to realize that he was staring at the back of his father's head. Yet even in that ghastly moment of realization, Brian could still see some beauty. Blue tendrils of electrical energy danced over and between the two of them. The strobe like flashes reminded Brian of the way sunlight glittered across the surface of the ocean.

Before Derek Knight hit the floor, Brian knew that his father was dead.

Brian collapsed to the floor and instant after his father. He clutched a hand to his chest, which felt as though it were on fire. He felt the rush of power leave him as suddenly as it had come. The lights went back to their normal level, and his muscles began to relax all at once.

Slowly, his eyes turned to what remained of his family. He wanted desperately to tell them that everything would be all right. His mother stared at him in sad, wide-eyed horror. He could not meet her gaze for more than an instant. He looked to Danny, praying that he would understand. The boy seemed to sense his brother's eyes upon him, for he turned to lock eyes with him. Brian felt his breath catch in his throat. Instead of understanding, Danny's eyes were filled with dread and terror.

Brian would never forget that look as long as he lived.

It was too much. It was all just too much. Brian bolted through the door and ran. He ran towards the city, though he had no destination. All he knew was that he had to get away. He had to get away from the truth. He had to escape the realization that despite all his efforts, despite all his intentions, he was no better than the beast that had sired him.

He was his father's son.

Author's note:

I'd like to thank a couple people for their contributions to this story. First, I'd to thank my friend Scott for helping me come up with this little origin story. Second, I'd like to thank Jack B. Nimble for all his help editing this chapter. Without them, this story couldn't exist.

PS I'm having a little trouble getting the site to recognize my perspective shifts, so bear with me.


	2. A Detective Story

Polarity

Chapter 2: A Detective's Story

Detective Glenn Turner took a long drag of his cigarette as he brought his car to a stop. Stepping out of the red and white '76 Mustang, he took in the building in front of him. The house was small, with a design almost identical to the other homes in the neighborhood. The wooden siding had been painted a light gray that, despite being a change from the various shades of white that dominated the other houses, was rather drab.

Two cars were in the driveway. The first, a white minivan, had been pulled into the garage. The second was a red pickup that looked as if it had seen better days. Several dents and scratches adorned the truck, particularly around the tailgate. If Glenn had to guess, he would say that the truck was a work vehicle. As he took another drag from his cigarette, Glenn noticed a third car parked in front of the house. It was a blue Jetta that looked almost as old as his own car. Glenn smiled. The Jetta was not unlike the car he had gotten for his sixteenth birthday.

"Seems like a pretty normal place," he said to himself. Indeed, if it weren't for the police tape that cordoned off the area, the house could have been any home in America. "Then again, some of the worst things happen in places just like this."

Extinguishing his cigarette on the ground, Glenn made his way to the crime scene. As he ducked his lanky, six-foot frame under the tape, a young female officer approached him. Glenn nodded to her.

"Olshefsky. What do we have?"

The young blonde returned his nod. "Derek Knight, Caucasian male, forty-two years old. He's got a broken neck, but there are signs of extreme electrical shock as well. We were just taking the body to be examined now."

The pair stopped as two paramedics wheeled out a covered stretcher. Glenn moved to lift the cover, but Olshefsky stopped him.

"I wouldn't do that, Detective. The smell is pretty bad."

Glenn took a quick sniff, then immediately regretted it. Even through the cover, the body gave off the pungent odor of burned flesh. He gave a slight wave and the paramedics continued on toward an awaiting ambulance. Glenn watched them for a moment, and then walked into the house.

Inside, the house seemed even smaller and plainer than the exterior suggested. The front doorway opened into a small and sparsely furnished living room. To the right was another doorway that led into a kitchen that doubled as a dining room. Straight ahead was a hallway that presumably led to the various bedrooms. Glenn followed Olshefsky into the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was small, though there was room for a small table and four chairs. All but one of those chairs, Glenn noticed, were lying on the floor in various positions. Along with the chairs, several cups and utensils were scattered on the linoleum floor.

"Looks like there was a struggle," Glenn said mostly to himself. "Was anyone else injured?"

Beside him, Olshefsky pulled out her notepad. "Yes, sir, two others were injured. Brenda Knight, the stiff's wife, suffered some minor bruising on her face. Daniel Knight, their son, suffered major blunt trauma to his torso. Currently he is at San Diego General being checked for internal injuries."

Glenn frowned. There was something very strange about this case. Parts of it seemed simple enough. The injuries to the wife and son, for example, were rather easy to explain. With no signs of forced entry, the culprit had to have been in the house. All the years of Glenn's experience told him that the prime suspect had just been wheeled away on a covered stretcher.

The cause of Derek Knight's death, on the other hand, was baffling. There were any number of ways that a man could break his neck, but there were only a few ways to electrocute oneself. The most likely explanation was a power surge of some kind. The problem was that there were no signs of an electrical surge anywhere in the kitchen: all the lights were working, and all the outlets looked undamaged. It just didn't add up.

Being careful not to disturb the crime scene, Glenn walked around the kitchen to clear his thoughts. Then something caught his eye. On the fridge was a picture of two boys, one about twelve, the other in his teens. Glenn motioned Olshefsky over.

"Who are the kids?" he asked.

"Those would be Daniel and Brian, the victim's sons."

"Which one is Daniel?"

"The younger one." Glenn's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"And what are Brian's whereabouts?"

"Um," Olshefsky flipped through her notepad. "Unknown. Should I put out an APB?"

"No," Glenn Replied calmly. "Not yet. I'd like to have a word with Mrs. Knight, though."

"She's at San Diego General with Daniel."

"Thanks," Glenn took another look around the kitchen. "Olshefsky, you and your people wrap up here. Let me know when you're done."

"Will do," was her reply, but Glenn never heard it. He was already halfway out the door.

XXXXX

Glenn knew that there had been something familiar about this case. He had seen something vaguely similar to this several months ago.

The details of the cases were actually very different. The Knight case was an apparent homicide, while the earlier case had been a series of petty thefts. The one thing that the cases shared was that it was impossible to explain HOW the crimes were committed.

Several months ago, a man named Smith had been arrested for stealing from pay phones, vending machines, and anything else that accepted change or cash. The man claimed that he had used explosives to get into the machines. While all the devices showed evidence of explosions, there had never been even a single trace of explosive materials on any of them. When asked what kind of explosives he'd used, he laughed and said "My daughter." Needless to say, the police were baffled. Still, they had gotten the confession, and that had been enough to convict the father.

Glenn, however, had not been satisfied. He suspected that the man's daughter was involved somehow. But before he could investigate, the case was dropped. The next thing he knew, the girl had been sent off to some prep school in New York. Glenn was determined not to let it happen again. His instincts told him that Brian Knight was somehow responsible for his father's death, and he was going to prove it.

There were only two problems. First, he only had two witnesses to the murder. Secondly, he wasn't entirely convinced that it had truly been a murder at all. Nonetheless, he had a job to do. He had to get to the bottom of this case, and the only one who could help him do that was sitting in a chair in room 317.

Glenn had been watching her for several minutes. She had spent most of that time talking with the nurses that seemed to always be hovering around her son's bed. She had only just sat down, and Glenn wanted to give her a minute to rest. Besides, he needed time to prepare himself. One wrong question, or one question asked in the wrong way and she might refuse to tell him anything.

Glenn studied her closely. She was a small woman, barely 5'3", with a very petite build. This, combined with the tension in her body language, conveyed a sense of great vulnerability. Even her eyes seemed fragile. They were a light shade of blue made heavy by the stress she was undoubtedly feeling. Yet even as her eyes wavered, he could detect something behind the frailty.

"Excuse me," came a voice to Glenn's right. He turned to see a young male doctor holding a file folder. "Detective Turner, I presume?" the man asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, good. I'm Doctor Macias."

"How can I help you?" Glenn asked with a slightly forced smile. This doctor had completely disrupted his train of thought.

"Well, Detective, I have the results of Daniel Knight's X-ray tests. It seems little Daniel suffered some slightly bruised ribs, but nothing more. It's quite a miracle, actually."

"How so?"

"Well, according to his mother's account, the boy's father had been kicking him very hard. I'd say that if he'd kept kicking him much longer, the damage could have been much worse."

"How much worse?" Glenn asked slowly.

"In my opinion, he might very well have been beaten to death," Macias answered calmly. The doctor paused, as if letting his words sink in. Glenn said nothing, but turned to look at Brenda Knight once again. She was still sitting, with her face cradled in her hands. After a few minutes Glenn turned back to where Dr. Macias had been, but the man was gone.

So, Glenn thought. Now it all makes sense. Brian had killed his father in order to save his brother. Glenn was sure that such circumstances were under the Imminent Danger clause. Then again, that was for a jury to decide. But was it right to put the family through a trial?

Glenn was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of his cell phone ringing. Normally, Glenn would ignore calls at times like this. But he could not ignore this particular call. A very special ring had announced this call: the Imperial March. That ring tone was reserved for only one person—his boss.

"Captain Chavez," Glenn spoke into the phone with as much cheery professionalism as he could muster.

"Turner, I want you to call off your investigation into the Knight case."

"What?!" Glenn could not contain his surprise. "Why?"

"Forensics on Derek Knight just came back. The boys at the lab say that the cause of death was electrocution. Knight died in a freak accident."

"Captain, you don't understand. I've got a lead. I think that Brian Knight is responsible for his father's death."

"Let it go, Turner."

"But Captain!"

"I said let it go," Captain Chavez's voice was firm. I just got a call from the Xavier Institute. They'll be handling the Knight children."

"The Xavier Institute?" the name sounded familiar. "Wasn't that the name of the prep school that the Smith girl was sent to?"

"Not that it's any of your concern anymore, but yes."

"And don't you find it a little strange that every time a kid does something unexplainable, they show up?" Glenn's fingers twitched. He needed a cigarette. He looked around, cursing the "No Smoking" signs that seemed to be hanging from every other ceiling tile. In fact, one was hanging above the entrance to room 317, where Brenda Knight sat. As he looked at her, he felt the urge to smoke slowly subside.

"Look," Chavez sounded very tired. "It's hard to explain, but this is all for the best."

"And how exactly is derailing a criminal investigation 'for the best?'" There was a pause, as if Chavez was milling over Glenn's words. After a moment, he replied.

"Listen, Glenn, drop by my office. I'll try to fill you in as best I can."

"Thanks. I'll do that. See you after my shift's over." With that, Glenn hung up. Putting his phone away, he took one last look at Brenda Knight before turning and walking to the elevator.

Author's Note:

I know, this is a much different chapter 2 than what was previously up, but I think that it's much better. No more narrative glitches, no more flagrant grammatical errors, and a fresh new perspective on the Knight brothers' story.

Also, some of my friends might notice their little cameos. Hope you liked them ;)


	3. Visitors and Opportunities

Polarity

Chapter 3: Visitors and Opportunities

The coffee had grown cold, but she didn't care. She had stood there for over an hour, watching her son as he slept.

He looks so peaceful, Brenda thought. I couldn't bear to wake him.

She was surprised that the boy could sleep at all. She was sure that the traumatic events of the previous day would haunt her for years to come.

Tearful screams as Danny sought to protect himself. An inarticulate howl of rage as his brother leapt to his defense. The sharp, dry snap as Derek's neck shattered.

She shook her head,willing the memories to subside. Dwelling on it wouldn't do any good. She had to be strong, for Danny's sake. He mustn't see her falter.

Oh God, Brian. Why did you have to run? I need you. HE needs you.

With a heavy sigh she turned away from the doorway and walked slowly toward the kitchen. She would not send him to school today and she would stay home as well. The best way, she decided, to work this all out would be to sit down and talk it through over a hot meal.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious aromas of eggs, French toast, bacon, potatoes, and everything else a growing boy could want in the morning. She settled into familiar patterns learned over the past eighteen years; it wasn't hard to lose herself in the simple act of creating a meal. The sound of a chair scraping the linoleum finally caught her attention away from the food.

"Morning, sweetie," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful.

"Morning, mom," Danny replied with a yawn.

"Sleep well?"

He flopped into the chair. "Yeah."

"I made French toast," she went on, as though her husband – his father – hadn't died at that table the night before. She suppressed that line of thought.

"Really?" Danny brightened. "Thanks Mom!"

_Your French toast is the best!_

She started, nearly dropping a platter of sausages. She hadn't heard the last remark, at least not in the traditional sense. No, it was as if the words had been placed directly into her mind. It wasn't frightening, really, but it was certainly uncomfortable; an experience she would just have to get used to.

But how to deal with it, she wondered. Do I respond with words? Do I think at him? Or do I just pretend I don't hear anything?

"Whatever you think is best, Mom," he told her with a shrug "I can't control it so you ought to get used to it

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into her son's eyes. Did he just read her mind? The shocked look on his face told her he had, however unintentionally. Just how far did this...this...power extend?

There was a lengthy, uncomfortable pause.

Danny opened his mouth to talk, but the sound of the doorbell boomed like the mighty carillon of a cathedral in the silent kitchen.

Brenda exhaled, not realizing that she'd been holding her breath. "Who on Earth, could that be at this hour?" she exclaimed with a jump.

An odd foursome greeted her when she opened the front door: a man in a wheelchair, a pretty young black woman, and two kids that looked barely older than Brian.

"Can I help you?" she inquired politely. Who were these people?

"My name is Charles Xavier," said the man, "and I would like to talk to you about your sons and their gifts."

XXXXX

Danny fidgeted in his seat, partly from nerves - but mostly from excitement. If Xavier was telling the truth, then he'd be setting off on an incredible adventure. He frowned slightly. He'd alsobe leaving his entire life behind. He brushed that thought away; he wasn't leaving anything important, really, except for years and years of bad memories. He made himself pay attention as his mother questioned the strange visitor.

"...this school of yours. Danny will learn how to get his power under control? How to restrain it?" she was saying.

"Yes," replied Xavier. "But we also teach the children how to use their gifts responsibly. It is our hope that by doing so we can change humanity's perception of mutantkind for the better, so that one day human and mutant can live together in peace."

Danny saw his mother nod. He wasn't sure what Xavier had said, but she seemed to accept it.

"And this school is in New York?" she asked after a moment's pause.

"Yes, though not in the city" Xavier nodded. "Bayville is a wonderful town. It is big enough to support a variety of cultural venues – theatres, libraries, et cetera – and at the same time small enough to provide a measure of safety and security lacking in the largest cities."

"I see." She paused, shook her head. "New York isa long ways away. I don't think that we could afford it."

Xavier smiled and raised his hand. "Please do not concern yourself with expenses. I am willing to pay most of the expenses out of my own pocket. You see many of my students are actually runaways or are otherwise without means of support." His eyes twinkled at her disbelief. "I assure you that money is not an issue."

Danny heard his mother's sigh of relief; he'd been wondering about the cost as well. Now she fell silent, thinking.

"Well," she said after a minute or so, "it all sounds wonderful but I suppose the decision isn't really mine to make." She turned to her son. "What do you think, Danny? It's up to you and I'll abide by your decision."

Danny paled slightly as all eyes turned to him. He hadn't expected this. He'd never had to make a decision like this in his entire life; up until now, his parents had handled the important things. In truth he felt it wouldn't be hard to decide, but he had a question of his own to ask first.

"So," he said after a moment's reflection of his own . "You really think you can help me control my powers? Keep me from telling the whole world what I'm thinking? Help me stop poking into other people's heads?"

Both Xavier and the redheaded girl - Jean, he remembered suddenly — smiled warmly.

"Of course," said the bald man. Then:_ Let's just say that I've had some experience with telepaths._

Danny gasped involuntarily as Xavier's voice echoed in his mind.

"You're nervous about broadcasting your thoughts to others, correct?" Danny nodded as Xavier continued. "Well, let's see if we can do something about that." The man closed his eyes and brought his fingers to his temples.

Danny blinked, not quite surewhat the older man was doing. He looked quickly at Jean, who nodded encouragingly without saying a word. After only a brief pause, Xavier opened his eyes and looked at Danny.

_All right Danny,_ Xavier spoke into his mind_. I'd like you to say something, anything to your mother. Don't look at her or say it aloud. Concentrate instead on speaking to her with your mind._

_Okay,_ he replied nervously. _Mom, I thought breakfast was great._

Silence.

Danny looked at his mom, who asked what was the matter.

"You mean you didn't hear me?" he asked in surprise.

She frowned. "Honey, you didn't say anything."

"You didn't hear my thoughts?" His voice nearly cracked, his emotions roiled, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then his mother shook her head.

Danny slowly turned to Xavier, his eyes brimming with joy, awe, and gratitude. It took all of his willpower not to burst into elated tears.

The man merely smiled and answered his unspoken question.

"I have placed a temporary barrier within your mind. It will assist you in containing your thoughts until control is better developed."

Danny seemed as though he would cry tears of joy. Yes, he thought exultantly.

Xavier and Jean flinched, then the older girl laughed unexpectedly. She and the Xavier exchanged a wry look.

Danny felt his face flush. "S-s-sorry," he stammered. "I won't do that again."

"It's quite all right," Xavier reassured him. "Your excitement is perfectly understandable; just remember that the barrier does have its limits, and we are psychic." Danny nodded and bashfully returned Xavier's smile.

"So tell me, young Danny, have you made your decision?"

"Yes, I have" Danny replied after only the briefest of pauses. "I want to go to your school, Mr. Xavier."

The atmosphere lightened considerably. "Excellent! We will begin making the arrangements immediately," Xavier said to his mother. Then he turned back to DannyBy this time next week you will be a full member of the Xavier Institute."

Danny felt a twinge of disappointment.

"Next week? You mean I have to wait?"

"Danny," his mother rebuked gently. "There's a lot of paperwork involved in a transfer like this, and that takes time. You can use the time to finish that Greek project you're working on, if you need to stay busy."

"Aww, mom..."

Everyone laughed, and after a moment Danny joined them.

Then Xavier spoke again, to Danny's mother:

"Regarding your son Brian: I would like for him to attend the Institute as well. His powers may prove dangerous if he does not learn to control them."

Danny exchanged a glance with his mother, who had gone pale at Xavier's words.

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry if I upset--" Xavier began.

"No, no, it's all right," Brenda said hastily. Then she shrugged. "What happened, happened. You can't change the past." She paused and looked sharply at Xavier, who shook his head slightly. She acknowledged that with a skeptic nod and then said in a rush "I want Brian to have the same opportunity that Danny has been given, but I don't know where he is. He just took off so suddenly and..." She trailed off and looked down at the tablecloth with a helpless expression.

"Do not worry," Xavier's voice was soothing. "We will find him. In fact, I've been trying to locate him since we arrived. However, I've had difficulty getting an exact trace on him."

"He's by the docks."

Everyone turned to look at Danny in surprise, but he stared with wide eyes through them all as though seeing something beyond the walls of his mother's kitchen.

"What was that, Danny?" Xavier asked in a low voice.

"He's in an alley by the docks," Danny said. "He's sad and...angry...at something, but he's not even surewhat."

"Danny." His mother touched his arm gently, and he seemed to snap back into reality. He looked up into her concerned face. "What happened? What did you do?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I just started thinking about Brian and then I...I was there. With him. Looking through his eyes, as though I was inside his head."

Danny was genuinely frightened by this startling complication. Jean and Xavier shared a long, obscure look and he didn't know why.

Finally the tall black woman, Ororo, cleared her throat.

"Well, perhaps someone should go and get him," she said, immediately changing the tenor of the conversation. Danny felt himself relax slightly.

Jean and the guy with the cool sunglasses stood up.

"We'll go get him, Professor," she said.

"Can I come?" Danny was on the edge of his seat; it was his brother they were talking about, after all.

"Not dressed like that you won't," his mother said firmly.

Danny looked down and realized he was still in his pajamas.

"Uh," he said, turning a deep shade of red. "just let me get dressed--"

"And take a shower, young man."

Danny was mortified; why did she have to do this in front of company?

"OK," he said, thoroughly embarrassed, "Fine! I'll take a shower and get dressed, and we can go in fifteen minutes!"

"Don't worry about it, Sport," said the guy with the shades. "It won't take us long. We'll probably have him back here by the time you're done."

Danny considered that. As much as he wanted to see Brian, he realized that he'd slow these people down or get in the way somehow. He decided the guy (Scott?) was right. A thought struck him: Sport? Why did he use that nickname?

Nodding slowly, Danny turned to the older boy who was waiting patiently for a response.

"All right," he said. "You go ahead. But hurry back!" he added as Scott and Jean turned to leave.

Scott waved at him in acknowledgement, but Danny didn't see the gesture; he was already on his way to his bedroom.

XXXXX

Jean couldn't control it any longer. The emotions she had suppressed all morning finally burst forth in the form of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Scott asked her as they climbed into the van.

Jean looked over at Scott -- so focused, so determined, so serious all the time -— and immediately started giggling again.

"What?" he repeated.

"Sorry," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "I was just thinking about Danny."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he a little young for you?"

"Very funny. He's just a cute kid, that's all." She laughed out loud. "He certainly didn't like being called 'Sport'. You might not want to call him that when he gets to the Institute. If you don't watch out, you might just hand Bobby a willing accomplice."

Scott groaned as he started the engine, and for good reason: Bobby Drake was notorious throughout the Institute for his outrageous practical jokes. "So do you think that he'll fit in?"

How skillfully he changes the subject, Jean thought.

She thought about that for a moment. "I think so. He's bright, and he seems friendly." She paused. "I'm sure Jamie will be thrilled, too."

If Scott noticed the slight hesitation, he didn't show it. "Yeah," he agreed, "it'll be good for him to have someone his own age around. He always seems kind of lonely."

You have no idea, Jean thought.

They drove in silence for a moment before Scott spoke again:

"How do you think he's holding up with the whole, well, father thing?" he asked her. When she didn't reply for several minutes, he tried again. "Jean?"

"I'm not sure,"she said truthfully. She shook her head. "I don't think he's come to grips with it yet. He seemed more concerned about his brother than his father's death. In fact, he seemed more relieved than anything else."

Scott nodded, saying nothing.

Jean stared out the window, letting the conversation drop for the time being. What had been done to Danny, she wondered, that the boy would feel relief at his own father's death? She'd have to remember to talk to the Professor about this. Surely he'd picked up the same impression. She started as Scott's voice broke into her thoughts.

"We're here."

Jean looked around as she stepped out of the van, carefully taking in her surroundings. Large structures -- some new, some old, but all uniformly ugly -- were arranged in a maze-like pattern. She must have truly been lost in her thoughts not to have noticed the change in scenery. If someone wanted to hide, she decided this was a good place to do so.

The only discordant feature was the oppressive silence: the only sounds were mournful cries from the seagulls circling overhead.

"He could be anywhere," Jean muttered in dismay.

"Let's split up. We can cover more ground that way," Scott said encouragingly. She admitted he was right. "If you see him, let me know. And Jean: be careful. We don't know what state of mind this kid is in right now."

"Got it" Jean smiled, giving him a thumbs-up as he strode away.

Jean spent the next quarter of an hour searching the alleyways between and behind the various warehouses. It quickly became apparent that this might take longer than they thought; there turned out to be a lot of little passages between the warehouses, and there didn't seem to be any pattern to them that she could figure out. She frequently found debris blocking her path, forcing her to take another route. Each detour threw her off-balance and she looked forward to finding this kid and being done with it.

Despite the obstacles, she trudged onward in search of Brian. She could sense his confused, scattered thoughts, but she couldn't pin down his location. Finally she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She whirled around in time to see a figure dash behind a corner.

"Wait!" she cried, but the person had already disappeared.

Jean followed at a run. Turning the corner, she praised her luck. The boy – she'd seen that much, anyway – had darted into one of the narrow passageways between two of the larger warehouses. The long stretch of ground between the buildings was narrow, but there were no branching paths.

She was able to get a better look at the boy as she chased him. He was about seventeen, with short brown hair. Jean reached out with her mind, straining to brush against his own; if this wasn't the kid they were looking for, she was wasting her time.

The boy looked back at her suddenly, meeting her eye as their minds touched. This was indeed Brian Knight, she realized in that seemingly frozen instant. But then she caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of the boy's mind and it both frightened and saddened her.

_Scott! I found him!_ she mentally screamed. With a jolt, she realized that one glimpse had caught her off-balance and cursed herself for letting her control slip.

_All right,_ Scott responded immediately. _I'm on my way!_

Jean didn't reply; Brian put on a burst of speed and she was hard pressed to keep up with him. He finally erred, making a wrong turn into a blind alley. Jean saw his frantic gestures as he searched for an escape, but the alley was a dead end.

She came to a stop at the alley's entrance and slowly made her way toward the frightened boy.

"It's OK, Brian,"she soothed with both voice and mind. "I'm not here to hurt you." The boy stood with his back to her, making no sign as to having heard her. She tried again: "I just want to talk. I know what you must be going through--"

"You have no idea what I'm going through!" Brian yelled without turning.

Jean didn't hesitate.

"You might be surprised. When I first discovered my gifts I was scared and confused, just like you. Then I learned about the Xavier Institute: a place where I could be safe, where I could learn to control my gifts. A place where nobody would hate me for being different."

Brian snorted, his only response.

Now she was standing right beside the boy, watching him carefully. His head hung low and she couldn't see his face; he'd turned away from her as she'd approached.

Jean reached out a cautious hand. "I just want to help you--"

"Help me? You want to help me!"

Brian spun around and Jean recoiled at the sudden violence of the motion.

"You want to help?" he repeated in harsh, strained tones. The boy laughed, but Jean could feel the anguish pouring off him in waves.

"Where was your help when I needed it?" Jean's hair began to stand on end and she could feel an aura of static and power emanating from him. "Where was your help when my father came home drunk? Where were you when he called my brother names? Where were you when he broke down Danny's confidence?"

Jean grazed his mind with her most delicate touch and immediately regretted it: jarring images came to her, a rippling succession of scattered and indistinct memories. She realized that Brian was on the verge of madness; his mind was no longer in the present.

Instead, he was reliving pieces of his past - painful pieces of his past. His thoughts were too unfocused for Jean to read what he was remembering, but the raw, aching emotions were coming through loud and clear: he had been hurting for a long time.

"Where was your help when he used us as a punching bag?" His voice rose into a howl of rageWhere were you when he forced him out of the closet? Where were you when he tried to kill him? WHERE WERE YOU?"

Jean ducked, barely managing to avoid Brian's fist as he lashed out and struck through the aluminum wall behind her. When he turned back to her, she gasped involuntarily. His eyes glowed brightly with a fierce rage, but it wasn't directed at her. She hadn't even attempted to comprehend the vicious look in his eyes before they changed again.

The anger and the sullen glow had vanished, to be replaced with a look of wide-eyed horror.

Brian pulled his fist out of hole he had just created. His eyes slid from the hole to Jean, who had to make a conscious effort not to flinch. She didn't have to read his thoughts to know that he was imagining what might have happened had she not evaded his blow.

Brian's eyes glazed over once again, but this time it was with tears. With a short, jerky movement he brought his hand to his chest and fell to his knees. Jean knelt quickly beside him as he abruptly paled.

"Are you all right?" she asked in concern. Where the heck was Scott?

"No," grated Brian through clenched teeth. "It feels like my chest is going to explode." He reeled, but caught his balance before Jean could steady him.

"Don't panic," she said. Come on, Scott. I need you now. "Just try to stay calm. Everything will be all right."

Jean wasn't sure the boy had heard her at all. For a long moment, he just knelt beside her like a small statue, utterly motionless. Eventually he relaxed and his expression softened into something more recognizably human.

"I'm sorry," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He looked up at her with a miserable look on his face.

"What is it? Please, tell me what's wrong, Brian. I only want to help you," coaxed Jean. She had to strain to hear his next words.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I might if you tell me, but I won't know unless you tell me," she said gently. "Do you want to tell me?"

Brain hesitated briefly and Jean held her breath in anticipation. Would he open up to her? Please, Brian, you have to talk to someone. Let it be me.

"I'm just like him," Brian whispered in a hoarse tone. He looked up into Jean's eyes, as though expecting something – she wasn't entirely sure exactly what – and when he didn't see it, blurted: "I swore that I'd never be like him! I'd have control! I wouldn't strike out at everything and everyone around me. But then he...but he never...oh, God! I didn't want to be like my father!"

Sobs overwhelmed the boy and Jean grimaced. She'd figured Derek Knight to be type who ruled his household with an iron fist and it seemed as though she hadn't been too far off the mark. Some of the images she'd pulled from Brian's mind made more sense now, but they also raised a lot more questions. Those could wait; he needed comfort at the moment, not an interrogation.

Jean gently laid a hand the boy's shoulder and did her best not to flinch when he flung himself into her arms and wept. She said nothing at first, but simply pulled his head to her shoulder as he unleashed his tears. For a long minute she simply rocked him as she would a small child.

A familiar presence approached and she looked up. Scott stood watching from the entrance of the alley. When he moved to join them, she shook her head and waved him back. No need to complicate things. When Brian's tears started to abate she began whispering to him about the Institute, telling him about the things he could learn there.

After a moment or two longer, the boy pulled away and wiped his sleeve across his face, dashing away the last bit of moisture

"So," Brian sniffled after another pause. "About this Institute place. The...people there can teach me to control my powers? So that I don't," he swallowed hard, "kill someone else?"

Jean nodded, glancing at Scott. He seemed just as surprised as she at this one hundred and eighty degree turnabout.

"Yes, that's what the Xavier Institute is for," she replied.

Brian looked clearly relieved. "All right," he said. "I'll give it a try."

"Great," Jean replied with a reassuring smile at the boy. She stood and offered Brian a hand to his feet. "Now let's just get you home so that we can make the--"

"No!" exclaimed Brian. Jean's eyebrows shot up as he shrank back from her hand and huddled against the wall. He'd gone pale again.

"What?" she said in alarm. "What is it?"

"I can't go back there," he said with a fearful look on his face. "I can't face them."

Author's Note:

I really have to give a big shout out to Jack B. Nimble for his editing (read: rewriting) of this chapter. Just about half of what's up there is his work. It sure was better than the original draft, I'll tell you that :p So thanks again Jack, and please come back from the land of the Lost.


	4. The Xavier Institute

A/N: I don't own X-Men: Evolution. If I did, it wouldn't have been cancelled. I do, however, own Brian and Danny. They're mine, all mine!

Jean glanced over her shoulder one last time before moving to the Blackbird's cockpit. Brian sat in one of the passenger chairs, snoring lightly. Not that Jean blamed him. She knew that the last few days had been very hard on him. So hard that he had been unable to even speak to his mother and younger brother—not even to say good-bye.

Jean let out a weary sigh. Once it had become apparent that Brian did not want to go home, it had taken a lot of negotiation to secure his place in the Institute. Mrs. Knight had been sad, but she seemed to understand why Brian might not be able to face them. Danny, however, hadn't taken the news so well. According to Ororo, the boy had holed himself in his room upon hearing the news.

Jean shook her head and walked to the cockpit. Scott and Ororo were seated at the controls, guiding the plane back home. The professor was seated a few seats behind them, his nose buried in a book that Jean didn't recognize.

"What's that you're reading, Professor?" she asked, taking a seat next to Xavier.

"It's a study conducted by an old colleague of mine who specializes in child psychology. It is proving most insightful."

"How so?"

"The research deals with children who have just experienced a major traumatic event, much like Brian and Danny have."

"I see."

"Yes, I must admit that the full range of reactions surprised me. Anger, fear, and confusion are all common. However, some children experience a disassociation with the events."

"You mean, like not believing that something actually happened?" she asked.

"Or forgetting the event entirely," he said, finally looking at Jean.

"Do you think that's what happened with Danny?"

"I believe so, yes. His conscious mind seems to have blocked his recollection of the events surrounding his father's death. He may not even be aware that his father has died."

"How do we want to handle that, if he really has forgotten?"

"I am not sure just yet. I will have to think on the matter."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Jean spoke: "Professor? There's something else I wanted to ask you."

"You want to know how Danny's power was able to get past my mental barrier," it was not so much a question as it was a statement. Jean nodded. Xavier was quiet for several moments. "I wish I knew. Either his abilities function differently from any other psychic on the planet, or he is more powerful than we originally thought."

…

Brian had to admit, the place was impressive. The Institute was easily as large as his old high school, and the grounds were in much better shape.

"Careful," he heard Scott say. "If you keep that up you're going to get grass stains on your chin."

"Huh?" Brian asked, and then quickly closed his gaping mouth. He looked back at Scott with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. It's just that I've never seen a house this nice before."

"Don't worry, I did the same thing the first time I saw it too." With that, Scott began making his way up the front steps. Brian followed closely behind, though he did take a brief moment to once again marvel at the Institute's grounds. There was green everywhere: trees, bushes and a front yard as big as a football field. Around the back he could make out a garden, complete with a gazebo, a pool—and was that a basketball court?

As Scott opened the huge double doors, Brian realized that the interior was just as impressive as the exterior. The foyer was almost as big as his whole house, and each wall was adorned with a bust or large painting. Overhead was a chandelier that looked to be made of the finest crystal. Directly ahead was a pair of staircases leading to the second floor. And descending the staircase was what appeared to be the perkiest girl that Brian had ever seen.

"Scott! Jean! You're back!" the girl exclaimed as she bounded down the steps. "Like, how was your trip? Did you have a nice flight? How was the weather in San Diego, because I hear it's like, totally beautiful there this time of year. Is this the new kid?"

It was all Brian could do to keep up with her as she fired questions a mile a minute. Now that she was closer, he could tell that she was a slight girl, barely his own height. She wore her long brown hair in a high ponytail, and he had to admit that her blue eyes were very pretty. Those pretty blue eyes were now locked on him. Brian tried to articulate a response, but—thankfully—Jean came to his rescue.

"To answer, Kitty: good, yes, sunny, and yes. Brian, this is Kitty Pryde. She's been at the Institute for a little over a year now. Kitty, this is Brian Knight, our newest student."

"Um, hi," Brian said nervously.

"It's totally great to meet you, Brian," Kitty beamed. "Hey! How about I give you the tour? C'mon, I'll show you around." With that, Kitty took hold of Brian's wrist and began pulling him towards the stairs. Brian looked pleadingly back at Scott and Jean, but they merely smiled and waved.

"Have fun you two," Jean said. Brian could swear that she was holding back laughter.

As Kitty led him on his fast-paced (yet excruciatingly detailed) tour of the mansion, Brian found it harder and harder to concentrate. It wasn't that he was losing interest, as the building was rather fascinating. It wasn't that he disliked Kitty, though he could not figure out how she was able to maintain her almost inhuman positive energy. Brian was having trouble concentrating because he felt the tingle.

The "tingle" was a difficult feeling to describe. Ever since his powers had first emerged, he had had a strange feeling whenever he was near a power line or a light bulb. When he was under a power line, for example, he would get a tingling sensation on his scalp. The sensation would grow stronger the closer he got, and the feeling emerged again whenever he neared another. Here in the building, though, it was different. He could feel the tingling sensation in two places: on his scalp and his feet. He was sure that there was a generator of some kind underneath the complex, but he hadn't felt anything quite that strong before.

The tingling on his scalp was strange. For one thing, it seemed just as strong as the feeling in his feet—perhaps even stronger. Second, as the tour went on the feeling would move to other parts of his head. It was almost as if whatever was causing the tingle was moving around the mansion. As Kitty and Brian made their way down one particular corridor (Brian had long since lost track of where they were) the feeling became more intense. In fact, the sensation had become almost painful.

Then he heard it: "Give it back!" Brian came to an immediate halt. In one of the side rooms he could hear voices, one of which sounded like a young boy in distress. As Brian listened, he realized that whatever was causing the sensation was in that room. Kitty, blissfully unaware that her subject had stopped, continued down the hall and around a corner.

Brian made his way into the room, which appeared to be some sort of rec room. Inside, two boys were arguing rather heatedly. One boy, who appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen, was holding a small book far above his head. The other boy, who looked no older than twelve, was trying desperately to grasp said book.

"Give it back Ray!" the younger boy yelled. He jumped, but the older boy merely lifted the book higher. The little boy seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"No way, Shrimp! I found it, so it's mine now," the older boy sneered. Brian's eyes narrowed. The older boy was easily a head taller than the younger one, and held the book high above his head. The boy looked like most of the tough-guy punks that Brian knew from his old school: piercing, ragged clothes, and a strange two-toned spiked hairdo. He looked like the classic bully. Brian didn't like bullies.

Brian was across the room in three steps. With a quick motion, he hopped up and snatched the book out of the older boy's hand. Surprised, the punk spun around and came face to face with Brian. "I don't think this belongs to you," Brian said sternly.

"Who the hell are you? This doesn't concern you," the other boy spat. He glared down at Brian, who realized that this boy was almost three inches taller than himself.

"Yeah, well I'm making it my concern," Brian replied coolly. The spiked-haired boy merely smirked.

"Big mistake, newbie," the punk sneered as he moved closer to Brian. Suddenly, there was a flash, and both Brian and the bully flinched. They flinched again as they saw the source of another flash: a bolt of electricity had jumped from the spiked-haired boy to Brian. Already Brian could feel his muscles tense as the energy raced through his body. The bully took a step back, a confused look on his face.

The two boys stared at each other for several long seconds. Brian did not know what his next move should be, and he could tell that "Ray" didn't seem to know either. After what seemed like an eternity, the silence was broken by another voice calling from the hallway: "Hey Ray!"

"Not now, Bobby," Ray replied without turning. The boy named Bobby poked his head through the doorway.

"C'mon, Ray, Dr. McCoy's almost done with dinner and Mr. Logan wants the two of us to set the table." Ray seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, with one last icy stare at Brian, he followed Bobby out of the room. Brian waited until he was sure Ray was gone before he let out a long breath. He felt the boost of energy leave, and felt a light pain in his chest. It was then that he noticed the small hand tugging at his sleeve.

"Um, can I have my book back now?" the little boy asked quietly. Brian had almost forgotten that he was there. Brian took the book and looked at it more closely. The small book was in fact a diary or journal, and a high-quality one at that. The cover was made of leather, and it bore an engraved title: The Private Life of Jamie Madrox. Clearly, this had been an expensive gift—no wonder the boy wanted it back so badly.

"Sure," Brian replied. He handed the journal back to the boy, who tucked it protectively under his arm. "That looks like an expensive journal; you should try to find a better hiding place for it." Brian smiled as he offered the boy his hand. "Name's Brian."

"Jamie," the boy replied as he cautiously shook Brian's hand. "Thanks for helping me out."

"Don't mention it," Brian replied with a smile. "I have a brother about your age, so I'm used to helping kids in need." Jamie smiled at that.

"Brian, there you are!" Brian turned to see Kitty entering the room, a flustered look on her face. "I was halfway across the mansion before I realized you weren't behind me."

"Sorry about that," Brian replied, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess I got a little turned around. Luckily, Jamie here found me, or I might still be wandering the halls. In fact, he was just volunteering to take over for you, weren't you, Jaime?" Brian looked at Jamie pleadingly. He was sure that Kitty was a perfectly wonderful person, but he really, _really_ needed a break from her blindingly sunny disposition.

The younger boy looked at Brian quizzically, then smiled. "Um, yeah. So, uh, this is the Rec Room," Jaime motioned. "There's the TV and, um, there's the couch." The two boys smiled as widely as possible. Kitty raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, OK," she said after a pause. "Hate to break it to you, but I just ran into Storm, and she wanted me to tell you that dinner is ready, so it looks like you'll have to cut the tour a bit short. Oh, and Jamie," she said, "Ororo wants to make sure that you got washed up before we eat."

"Aw," the boy whined. "Oh well, maybe we can do the tour after dinner?" When Brian nodded, Jamie brightened considerably.

"Hurry up, Jamie, or you'll be late," Kitty said as she shooed him out into the hall. Turning to Brian, she flashed him a mischievous grin. "C'mon, let's be the first ones at the table! I know a shortcut!" Brian barely had time to raise an eyebrow before Kitty grabbed his hand. Then—to Brian's astonishment and horror—the pair began sinking through the floor. With a panicked yelp, Brian tried to pry himself from Kitty's grasp, but her grip was surprisingly strong. The last thing he heard before his head sank beneath the carpet was the sound of Jamie's laughter.

The Private Life of Jamie Madrox is the title of a fanfic by the talented and very funny Pirate Kit. Do yourself a favor and give it a read.


	5. The Danger Room

Disclaimer: I still don't X-Men: Evolution. So don't bother suing me.

Chapter 5

The Danger Room

_The kitchen was in shambles. Everywhere Brian looked he could see scattered debris: broken chair legs, a shattered toaster, shards of glass and metal. Overhead, a light bulb flickered weakly, its faint light unable to keep the darkness at bay. Through the gloom, Brian could make out the shape of a crumpled form lying on the dirty linoleum._

_Cautiously, Brian made his way to the form. Kneeling, he could see that it was the beaten, bloody corpse of his father. Every fiber of his being told him to look away, but he found that he could not. His father's face, bloody and bruised though it was, was frozen in a cruel sneer. The dead man's eyes seemed fixed on something behind Brian. Against his better judgment, Brian looked._

_Behind him were two more battered bodies. One was clearly a woman. Though her features were marred with bruises, there was no mistaking his mother's eyes. Beside her lay the body of a young boy. If not for the unnatural paleness of his skin and the dark, hand-shaped marks around his slender neck, he could have been alive. Brian had never seen Danny look so fragile. From behind, a dark laughter rang through his ears._

_"I raised you real good, boy," his father's voice taunted. "You've done something even I could never do. Well done." Brian looked down at his hands and gasped; they were covered in blood. He looked back at Danny's body, desperately hoping that he'd be alive, that he'd be fine._

_But the boy still lay there, dead. Then slowly, horribly, Danny's eyes opened. Brian could hear several dry pops as the boy turned to look at him. As their eyes met, Danny spoke in a rasping voice: "Brian!"_

…

Brian sat up with a start. He was lying in a strange bed in a strange room, his body covered in a cold sweat. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room as he tried to gather his bearings. The room was fairly large, with enough space to fit two beds and two dressers comfortably. One bed was bare, covered only by a set of white sheets. The rest of the room was similarly sparse, as if nobody actually lived within its walls. One wall had a double door that appeared to lead out onto a balcony of some sort. Sunlight was pouring in from the large windows.

As his breathing began to slow, a wave of recollection swept over him. He was in his new room at the Xavier Institute. Everything was bare because he had left all of his belongings at home. The other bed…it was for Danny when he arrived, the Professor had told him. Danny. Brian shuddered at the memory of his dream.

Brian heaved himself out of bed with a sigh. Lying around in bed wasn't going to help him forget the horrible images. Besides, he realized that he was starving. Finding the clothes he had worn the day before, Brian dressed and entered the large hallway outside his room.

The empty hallway was easily eight feet wide and seemed to go on forever in both directions. A hallway this large was clearly meant to facilitate the smooth movement of several students, but without them it just seemed lonely. Brian looked left, then right, unsure of where to go. He suddenly regretted not finishing the tour with Jamie the night before; he had no idea where the bathroom was.

After several wrong turns, Brian finally found the facilities. After washing up, he made his way down one of the giant staircases in the foyer. The feeling of emptiness that he felt upstairs only grew as he made his way into the entranceway. Where the heck was everyone? And more importantly, where the heck was the kitchen?

By the time he finally found the kitchen, his stomach was growling loudly. He opened the fridge to find it ridiculously well stocked. Clearly, this was a house full of teenagers, and the adults knew it all too well. Every shelf was packed with food: bread, veggies, six kinds of lunch meat, blocks and single slices of cheese, soda, even a watermelon. Deciding that a ham sandwich sounded good, Brian pulled out the essential ingredients.

"Hey Brian!"

Brian nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound of the voice behind him. He wheeled about and found himself face-to-face with a grinning Jamie. "Jeez, Jamie, you almost gave me a heart attack. Didn't your mom ever teach you not to sneak up on people?"

"Yeah. It's still fun, though," the boy giggled. Brian glared at him for a moment, then grinned and shook his head. He remembered when he had been that age; startling his mom in the kitchen had been a favorite pastime of his, even if it had landed him in his room repeatedly. As a matter of fact, Danny was about at that stage too, always trying to give his big brother a start. Danny…

"Brian, you okay?" asked Jamie. The boy's face was full of sudden concern.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking. Since I've got the fridge open, do you want anything?"

Jamie seemed to consider his options. "Yeah, could you grab the turkey?" Brian nodded and pulled out another package of lunch meat. "You sure are up late," Jamie noted as the two boys prepared their food.

"Really? I haven't seen a single clock since I woke up."

"Yeah, it's almost noon."

"Must be the jet lag. Besides, I was pretty exhausted last night," Brian replied, putting the finishing touches on his sandwich. "Speaking of the time, shouldn't you be at school?"

"I don't go to school. Dr. McCoy tutors me here at the Institute," Jamie replied, closing the bag of sliced turkey. "The Professor doesn't want me going back to school until I can get my powers under control."

Brian raised a brow. "Why?" he asked as Jamie began putting the food back into the fridge. As the younger boy opened the meat drawer, the baggy of turkey slipped from his hands. After bending over to pick it up, he straightened, only to bump his head lightly on the open drawer. Brian did a double take as three identical Jamies appeared out of thin air and began milling about the kitchen. "Oh," Brian said quietly.

"Sometimes it's a real hassle," said the original Jamie, motioning to the duplicates. "All it takes is a little bump and bam! There's eight of me running around. I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I could control when they come out, or which ones come out."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really understand it all, but the Professor says that each of my Dupes is supposed to be part of my personality. That one," he said, pointing to a copy that had busied itself with cleaning the kitchen. "That one's either my helpful side or the part of me that likes to be clean. I think that one's my ego," Jamie pointed to the copy preening itself in front of a mirror.

"What part of you is that one supposed to be?" Brian asked. The last copy had turned on a boom-box that had been lying near the sink, and was now dancing wildly to the music.

"I have no idea," Jamie replied flatly. After a few minutes, the song ended, and the duplicate turned off the radio. The original Jamie waved his hand, and the three copies vanished. The two boys ate in silence for a few moments, until the large blue form of Dr. Hank McCoy joined them.

"Ah, Brian, so good of you to join us in the land of the living," Beast said with a grin. Brian had to admit that the previous night, he had found Dr. McCoy to be rather intimidating. However, the more he listened to him, the more he seemed like a blue, fuzzy version of one of his favorite teachers.

"Good morning to you too," Brian replied without looking up. Beast glanced at his watch.

"It's 11:59."

"Still technically the morning."

"You're right, I suppose. In any case, there are a few things that I need to discuss with you, Brian," said Beast as he pulled out a small notepad. "First and foremost, the Professor has asked Ororo to take you down to the mall as soon as you're done eating."

"Really? What for?" Brian asked.

"Well, seeing as your personal effects haven't arrived yet, you're going clothes shopping."

"Fun," Brian sighed.

"After you get back, the Professor would like to have a word with you in his office, though depending on how long your excursion to the mall takes, you may have to do that after your DR session this afternoon."

"What?" Jamie asked heatedly. "He's got a DR session already?" Brian raised a brow.

"Ok, I think I missed something important for this conversation. What's a 'DR Session?'"

"DR stands for 'Danger Room,'" Beast replied calmly. "Downstairs we have a highly advanced training room where students can test their powers and work on teamwork."

"You mean _most_ of the students," Jamie replied sullenly. "I've been here almost six months and I haven't gotten to do _one_. It's not like I don't know anything about it! I've probably spent as much time learning about it as Scott!"

"Jamie, I know you want to train like the older students, but you know that the Professor—" Beast began.

"Thinks I'm too young," Jamie finished. His sandwich seemingly forgotten, the younger boy stared morosely at his plate.

"Tell you what, Jamie," Brian said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder. "How about you give me that tour of the mansion when I get back? Then you can tell me all about the Danger Room so that I don't mess up on my first try."

Jamie seemed to ponder this for a moment, then grinned. "Deal."

…

The next three hours seemed to just fly by for Brian. Clothes shopping with Miss Monroe ("Please, call me Ororo," she would chide him with a smile) had gone far more smoothly than he had expected. For the most part, she had stayed out of his way and let him shop as he pleased. Not that he really had any trouble finding clothes; just about any combination of jeans and a t shirt would be fine by him. Several times during their trip, Ororo would gently remind him that if he wanted to get something nice he would be able to. However, Brian refused to spend more than he would if he had gone shopping with his mother, so the most expensive thing he returned with was a $20 pair of jeans.

The pair arrived back at the Institute at 2:30 to find a very exited Jamie waiting for them. The younger boy had grabbed Brian around the wrist and started with the tour almost before Brian had gotten out of the van. Though Jamie's tour could best be described as a whirlwind, he still managed to fit in more information than Kitty had the previous evening. While some of the highlights were somewhat pointless ("That's where Rahne left a dead bird as a present for Mr. Logan,") Brian was sure that several would prove useful in the days and weeks ahead ("That's Bobby's favorite place to drop ice water on people,").

By the time Jamie had finished showing Brian the Institute, the other students had begun to arrive back from school. While the others unloaded their things and discussed their days, Jamie took the opportunity to take Brian down to the lower levels, giving him a crash course in Danger Room 101 along the way.

"The thing to remember about the flame-throwers is that they're only accurate to about twenty-five feet," Jamie explained calmly as the elevator reached the basement level.

"Good to know, " Brian gulped, the color having long since left his face. What kind of nut-house was this?

"Don't worry," Jamie replied reassuringly. "You probably won't be doing anything that hard on your first time. When Lance was here for a little while, the hardest thing they did was target practice."

"Lance?"

"Yeah, he's one of the older kids from the Brotherhood, I think."

"That certainly clears things up," Brian replied. If Jamie caught the edge of sarcasm in his voice, he didn't show it.

"Scott doesn't really like him," Jamie continued. Suddenly a downright evil smirk crossed the young boy's face. "Kitty, though, she's got a _crush_ on him!" he whispered, as if he were discussing matters of national security.

The two boys entered the locker room to find Beast waiting for them. Beast showed Brian to his locker and handed him his new uniform. The outfit was the same as the one that Jamie was currently putting on: a black jumpsuit with a red and black "X" logo on each shoulder, a gold belt bearing the same symbol, gold gloves and gold boots.

"I can't believe you guys actually go outside in these things," Brian muttered as he finished donning his gloves.

"You get used to them," Jamie replied with a shrug. "Besides, they could be worse." Brian merely arched a brow. Just then, Scott walked past in full uniform. His getup looked a lot like the ones Brian and Jamie wore, save for the rather large gold X across the chest and back. Jamie looked back at Brian, and the two boys tried valiantly to stifle their laughter.

…

"Ok, people, listen up," Scott said as he paced in front of the gathered students. "I know you were all looking forward with a session with Logan today," there was a burst of restrained laughter, "but seeing as we have a new student today, we're going to be doing something a bit easier."

"Yes" Brian heard one of the girls (Jubilee?) exclaim. "You're my new hero, Brian," the lanky farm boy Sam clapped Brian on the shoulder.

"Alright, that's enough," Scott chided from the front. "Today we're going to be doing an obstacle course. Beast," Scott looked up to the observation bubble high above. "Could you load Obstacle Course 45 for us?"

"Coming right up, Cyclops," came Beast's disembodied, digitally amplified voice. A moment later, the floor opened up and several metal structures rose into place. Soon the Danger Room was dominated by a series of ramps, beams, and walls that Brian was sure had come straight from some sadistic Japanese game show. Looking around, he could tell that most of the other students were similarly intimidated.

"Impressive, huh?" Scott asked, motioning to the course. "I know it looks tough, but it can be done. Ok, Kurt, why don't you show them how it's done? And no teleporting!" Scott added quickly.

Brian watched as Kurt, the blue-furred demonic-looking boy mounted the course. First was a pit with several staggered, sloped platforms that Kurt cleared with a series of well-timed jumps. Next was a balance beam with a trio of suspended medicine balls that would swing across from time to time. Third was another pit, this one bridged by a series of rotating platforms. After this came a long slope with a tube suspended above it. Kurt had to wrap his arms and legs around the tube and hang on as it rolled down the slope. Last was a flat area covered with squares arranged in a grid. Apparently, only a few of the squares were safe to stand on, as the others would give way or reveal another hazard—such as the dodgeball cannon that Kurt managed to barely avoid.

One by one, the students tackled the course. The ever-enthusiastic Bobby was up first, and he managed to clear the obstacles with little difficulty. Jubilee was next, but she was unable to hang on to the rolling tube and fell to her elimination. Sam didn't fare much better, as he managed to fall off the rotating platforms. By the time Ray stepped up to the plate, only Rahne and Roberto had managed to clear the course. Ray managed the course effortlessly, even topping Rahne's time, which had thus far been the fastest.

"Top that, newbie," Ray smirked as he returned to the group of students. Brian glared in response.

"Ok, Brian, you're up," called Scott. With a gulp, Brian made his way to the starting line. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, letting his muscles loosen up. It was just like P.E., he told himself. P.E. for people with superpowers. P.E. with pits and dodgeball cannons. And Scott called this stuff _easy_?

"On your mark! Get set! Go!"

Brian's eyes shot open as he took off with a run. The staggered platforms were up first, but he found that they were simple to pass as long as he kept his momentum going. The balance beam was next, and this too turned out to be easier than expected; the medicine balls swept by in a wave, giving ample time to cross after they swung by. The rotating platforms were slightly more difficult, as each spun at a different speed. He momentarily faltered on the last platform before regaining his balance.

Next up was the one obstacle that had eliminated more students than any other: the "log roll," as Bobby had dubbed it. Brian tentatively reached his hand around the tube, and was somewhat relieved to find a pair of hand grips on the underside. After carefully wrapping his arms and legs around the device, he pushed off. He instantly found himself disoriented as the tube rolled down the slope. Suddenly, he felt his grip slipping. Panicking, he grasped as tight as he could, barely noticing the familiar tensing sensation of power flowing through his body. With a start, he realized that the tube had stopped spinning, and that he had reached the bottom of the slope.

Now all that was left was the grid. Brian eyed it cautiously. From what he saw when the others had crossed it, he guessed that there was only one safe sequence of squares. What was more, the safe path seemed to change each time someone attempted to cross. It was completely random. Which meant that standing there and planning was a waste of time.

Brian exploded into motion, going for the middle of the three squares first. The square lit up, but nothing happened. He continued down the middle. This time, the square lit up briefly before giving way. Expecting this, Brian shifted his weight to the right, hoping against hope that the right square was safe. He landed with a thud, and the square lit up and held firm. He let out a sigh of relief that was quickly extinguished; on either side of the grid, cannons loaded with dodgeballs began to rise from the floor.

Scrambling to his feet, he continued on the right path. The first square in front of him held fast, but the second gave way, forcing him back into the center. This too held firm, but Brian was too busy dodging the flying red balls to notice. He tried the left track next. The tile held firm, but he was forced to duck when he caught a flash of red in the corner of his eye. No sooner had he done so than a hard red ball flew just inches over his head—right into the other cannon. Brian watched as the other cannon came flying off its base. A smile crossed his lips.

By now the functioning cannon had adjusted its aim and fired another projectile. Brian squared his shoulders set his feet as the hard rubber ball slammed into his abdomen. The force of the impact caused him to slide back a few inches, but he remained on his feet. Feeling the static and power flow through him once more, he threw the ball back at its source and watched as the cannon broke into several pieces. Brian was vaguely aware of the chorus of whoops and cheers coming from the gathered students, and he was certain he could hear someone asking "Can he do that?" But none of that mattered; there were only three spaces left to go. He took the center track, and once again it held firm. Next he went left, and the floor lit up. Just one more space.

As if on cue, a sheet of metal shot up from the floor, blocking his path. Before Brian could react, two more shot up from either side and another from behind. With a deafening thud, a final panel slammed shut above him. Brian was completely trapped.

"No!" he yelled, his voice echoing within his small metal prison. "No! Dammit! DAMMIT!" With a guttural roar of frustration, he slammed the forward wall with both hands. To his utter surprise, the metal wall dented, and blue tendrils of electricity danced across its surface. Brian had been so angry that he had not felt the rush of power at all. Smirking to himself, he slammed against the wall again, and again and again. On the sixth try, the wall gave a final creak, then fell forward.

Brian took a moment to admire his handiwork. The steel panel was almost unrecognizable, its surface covered in dents and even a few cracks. What was more, the section that had been the top now lay across the finish line. Brian could bypass the final section completely. Smiling, he made his way towards the end of the course.

Then it hit him, an unbelievably sharp pain in his chest, followed by numbness of his left arm. He gasped for breath and brought his right hand to his heart. The fire in his chest was spreading now, covering his entire left side. His vision began to blur and he stumbled. The last thing he saw was the floor racing to meet him. Then there was only darkness.


End file.
